


The Healing Of Physical and Emotional Wounds

by GoodShipSherlollipop



Series: Alternate Love Realization Dream [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, F/M, First Kiss, Molly Hooper Appreciation Week, POV Molly Hooper, Romance, Spiritual, dream - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-04 09:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20469038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodShipSherlollipop/pseuds/GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: Molly agrees to stay at Baker Street to keep an eye on Sherlock as he recuperates from his gunshot wound (S3:E3). But perhaps there's more to be mended than a physical wound as a half-remembered kiss prompts Sherlock to request that Molly repeat it while he is conscious. Can Sherlock learn to love Molly in the way she deserves? Sherlolly.  MHAW fall 2019 (Day 7)





	1. A  Physical Wound and a Wounded Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I am only bringing across another of my Molly POV stories from fanfiction.net in order to support the person in charge of Molly Hooper Appreciation Week Fall 2019. 
> 
> Please support your favourite authors with your comments. Think of reading a story as receiving a gift from an author who has worked many hours to bring to the site a finished (hopefully mostly error-free) product for your enjoyment. How do you respond when you receive a gift? I don’t know about you, but I always say thank you. If more people were givers rather than takers, this world would be a better place.
> 
> If you like my work and want to see more of it, look me up on fanfiction.ent.

"Please God - no," Molly whispered, burying her face in her hands as Mike's words of a few moments before reverberated in her head.

"_I have some bad news. Sherlock was rushed to the emergency room last night."_

She looked up, steeling herself for the worst. "Was it- was it the drugs? Did he...overdose?"

Mike looked back at her, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Drugs? What on earth are you talking about, Molly? Of course it wasn't drugs. It was a gunshot wound to the chest."

Molly's head spun dizzily. She didn't know if that was better or worse than her first thought. She put her hands to her mouth and inhaled sharply, then tried to compose herself. "Is he...is he...dead?" She blinked back tears, sure the answer would be in the affirmative.

Mike laid a consoling hand on her shoulder. "Oh, God, Molly, I didn't intend to frighten you this way." Relief washed over her at his next words. "He's not dead, although it's a bloody miracle he's not, after being struck in the chest that way from close range.."

Molly stared up at Mike. "What happened? Who shot him? Is he going to be okay? Can I see him?" The questions came out of her mouth at lightning speed, and Mike held out a hand to stay her verbal assault.

"Calm down, Molly, and let me explain. I'll tell you what I know. Sherlock was rushed to the hospital last night with a gunshot wound to the chest from an unknown assailant. Apparently he was somewhere he shouldn't have been, broke into the offices of newspaperman Charles Magnussen. It seems he disturbed a robbery in progress, and the burglar panicked, shot Sherlock and escaped."

Molly listened, her anguish evident on her face as Mike continued.

"Anyway, Sherlock was immediately rushed into surgery and the bullet was extracted. He's in the ICU right now."

Molly twisted her fingers together, trying to stop them from shaking "Will he...will he be okay?" She could not stop her lips from trembling as she spoke.

"Yes, he shouod recover." Mike suddenly gave Molly an assessing look. "I know you and Sherlock have a friendship that goes back a long way, which is why I'm telling you, but I suspect there's more here than concern over a friend."

Molly looked down, as she felt colour creeping into her face.

His voice was gentle as he went on, "I heard that you recently broke off your engagement. Was it because of him - Sherlock I mean? I know you had a bit of a thing for him a few years ago." Then he added hastily, "Sorry, that was completely out of line. It is none of my business, and I should not pry into your personal affairs."

Molly looked up at him again, with eyes that were blurred with tears. "If anything happened to him, I don't know what I do. I'm a mess as it is. But it's fine, I'm just happy to be his friend, and to be there for him in whatever capacity he needs."

"He's lucky to have you in his life. I hope one day he's smart enough to realise that, and to appreciate you as he should. You've softened his edges over the past few years as it is. I think he needs you more than you know, more than he realises himself, actually." Then he seemed to suddenly recall her words from earlier. "Anyway, what would possibly make you think Sherlock could have overdosed on drugs? I'm not aware of him having any kind of problem with drug addiction. If he has a drug habit, he's kept it hidden very well."

"Well, he was here yesterday at John's insistence and failed a drug test." Molly raised a hand to her face to wipe away a tear that had escaped. "Apparently he's been 'manufacturing' a drug habit to get someone's attention. I suppose it was this Magnussen man you just spoke of. So when you told me Sherlock had been rushed to hospital, I just assumed he'd gone overboard and overdosed."

Mike looked at her sympathetically. "I do apologise for frightening you that way. I had no idea."

Molly brushed away several more tears. "It's okay, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions either. Do you…do you think I can go and see him, make sure for myself that he's going to be okay?"

"Of course you can. I know this is a shock for you. Look, there are no post-mortems scheduled for today and I think we could manage without you if you want to take the rest of the day off." His voice was kind. Mike had always been a good supervisor, and he was well liked by all of the staff.

She nodded. "Thanks Mike, I think I'll do that."

She left his office and went to her locker, hanging up her lab coat and pulling out her handbag. Then she went downstairs and inquired at the ICU registration desk about the number of Sherlock's room.

Upon being furnished with the information, she went to the room and entered quietly, dropping her handbag just inside the door. Her heart nearly stopped at the sight that met her eyes. Sherlock looked so still and pale, and she had to take a look at the heart monitor to reassure herself that he was actually alive. There was a blood pressure cuff on his arm which automatically inflated every half hour to take a new reading. There was a cannula in his nose giving him oxygen and he was hooked up to an IV. A large gauze bandage covered the site of the bullet wound.

She stepped slowly towards the bed, looking at the unconscious figure of the man she had loved for years. _What the hell were you thinking, Sherlock? What were you doing, breaking in somewhere illegally?_

Reaching the bed, she took a closer look at the bandage. It really was a miracle the bullet had missed his major organs. Even bearing that in mind, it was a miracle he had survived at all. She swallowed, hard.

Her fingertips brushed along his hand, lying so still on the bed next to him. _Such long fingers_, she thought. On impulse she bent down and picked up the hand, resting his palm against her cheek. Oh yes, his hand and long fingers practically engulfed her face and the side of her head. _What would it feel like if he were to touch me like that and kiss me?_ she wondered.

It was strange, being in such close proximity to Sherlock, being able to touch him this way. Sherlock was so careful to not touch her, to not invade her personal space as it were. On the odd occasion where they had been working together for a case, either in the lab or in the morgue, and his hand had inadvertently brushed hers, he would flinch and pull back, with a muttered, "Sorry," as if she would be offended by his touch. In actuality, the reverse was true. His touch warmed her skin in a way that felt comforting.

On those two occasions in which he had actually pressed his lips gently to her cheek, she had felt the warmth again and longed for more.

Sherlock's hand twitched slightly and she hastily laid it back on the bed. Then she stepped a little closer to his face, gazing down on it, seeing how the slight crinkles at the sides of his eyes were softened in repose. She reached her hand up to brush back the curls of his forehead, leaning down to press a kiss on to the skin. Oh, how she longed to take care of him. Her heart was almost bursting with the desire to be the one who would care for him always.

She straightened and feasted her eyes upon him for some time, enjoying the unprecedented opportunity to just stare at him, memorise every feature. What was it about this man that drew her inexplicably to him? She was hopelessly entangled in his web, would always be.

She glanced back up at the heart monitor, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Then she turned to go.

She took two steps towards the door then stopped, and turned back towards him. Surely one tiny little kiss wouldn't hurt him? He would never know, after all. She returned to the bed and bent down, saying softly, "I love you."

Then slowly, hesitatingly she pressed her lips against his, feeling again that familiar sensation of warmth spreading through her. His mouth moved and she hastily drew back, flustered, after which she distinctly heard him say, "Not now, Janine."

_Janine? Who the hell is Janine? _she wondered in confusion.

Sherlock said no more and she knew he had returned to unconsciousness, but she quickly retrieved her handbag and left the room.

As she took the Tube home, his words continued to ring in her head - _'Not now, Janine.'_ Molly choked back a sob, even as several fellow Tube passengers glanced at her. Apparently Sherlock had a girlfriend she was not aware of. Why else would he say something like that when their lips had met? She hadn't seen him in the past month, discounting when she had administered the drug test the previous day.

As soon as she arrived home, she dropped her handbag, went into her bedroom, kicked off her shoes and threw herself on her bed. All the anguish of the past couple of hours washed over her and she sobbed, finally allowing her misery to consume her.

She cried not only for the fact that the man she loved had been seriously wounded and had almost died, but also for the fact that despite his assertion that sentiment was a chemical defect, he seemed to have changed his mind and found a woman, a woman who was not her.

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Molly, as she tried to deal with her roiling emotions and her jealousy over the other woman who had somehow managed to capture Sherlock's attention. It wasn't so bad dealing with his indifference when she knew it extended to all women. But knowing that someone besides her had found a place in his heart, hurt like hell. _Why couldn't it be me? _she asked herself silently, in an agony of torment.

She dragged herself through the motions of eating and showering, then fell into an exhausted sleep that night.

As usually happened, when Molly woke, she was in a better frame of mind. She determined to visit Sherlock on her lunch break and demand who this 'Janine' woman was. She would do it in a nice way, of course. She just had to know, though. She would have to wait until Sherlock was conscious, though. Hopefully by now he would be awake and in a different hospital room.

When Molly got to the hospital, the first place she visited was the ICU, before starting work. To her relief, she discovered that Sherlock was now conscious and alert, and had been transferred the previous evening to a regular hospital room. She decided that she would visit him during her lunch break.

As the morning progressed, Molly forced herself to concentrate on her work, rather than Sherlock. Fortunately, she had a rather complicated post-mortem to perform, which took several hours. By the time she was done with it and glanced at the clock, she saw it was time for her to take her lunch break.

Not wanting to waste any more time than necessary, Molly purchased a bag of her favourite smoky bacon crisps from a vending machine and ate them as she made her way to Sherlock's hospital room. As she ate, she remembered the way Sherlock had provided a rather inadequate lunch of Quavers for her years earlier when he had needed her help during a kidnapping case. That day had occurred just before he had been falsely discredited and she had later helped him fake his death. The details of the whole day were still burned indelibly in her mind.

Molly tossed the empty bag in a rubbish bin close to his room, then her eyes widened in surprise as she spotted an unfamiliar dark-haired woman exiting it. The woman looked vaguely familiar to her.

_Where have I seen her before?_ she mused, watching as the woman strode down the corridor in the opposite direction. Was this the girlfriend, then? She felt the bile rise in her throat at the thought.

Molly reached the door of the hospital room and knocked.

"Did you forget something, Janine - like these newspapers?" came a disgruntled voice from inside the room.

So, that _had _been Janine, the mysterious girlfriend. Molly suddenly remembered where she had seen her. She had been the chief bridesmaid at John and Mary's wedding, and she had seemed to cling to Sherlock a bit. Molly tried to fight the feelings of jealousy that welled up in her as she opened the door hesitantly.

"Sorry, not Janine, just Molly." She glanced at the bed on which several newspapers lay, newspapers that Sherlock was frantically and unsuccessfully trying to retrieve. It was too late though, she had seen the headlines.

**'_7 times a night in Baker Street.'_**

**'_He made me wear the hat.'_**

**'_Shag-a-lot Holmes.'_**

_Don't cry, Molly,_ she ordered herself fiercely, silently. Painting on a bright smile, she greeted him with, "Glad to see you're awake today."

She walked over to the bed and picked up the offending papers, putting them together neatly and handing them to him.

He took them and looked up at her. "It's not what you think, Molly."

She shrugged. "It's none of my business that you suddenly found yourself a girlfriend after all these years of asserting that most human beings suffer from chemical defects because they allow themselves to fall in love. She must be very special, Sherlock." She couldn't help the acid note that crept into her voice, try as she might to disguise it with indifference.

He looked at her steadily. "Janine and I are not together." Then he amended it with, "Well, not anymore."

She raised an eyebrow condescendingly. "Really? I suppose she's moving on now that you're not in any condition to have sex with her seven times a night." she tried, rather unsuccessfully, to keep the hard, bitter tone from her voice. She had no right to judge him for his actions, after all.

Sherlock flushed. "You shouldn't believe everything you read in the tabloids," he said tersely.

Molly folded her arms and tilted her head in a considering manner. "What - are you trying to say you _weren't_ sleeping with her?"

Sherlock's hands were clenched around the newspaper articles. "Well, no.." he began, but Molly cut him off.

Anger she had no right to feel was welling up within her, and she dug her nails into her skin as she tried to keep her composure. "Whatever, Sherlock. Whether it's seven times a night, once a night or once a week doesn't really matter." All of a sudden the anger she felt faded away, and her eyes blurred with tears. She turned away from him and tried to keep her breathing even as several tears escaped. _Dammit_, she thought miserably to herself. _I thought I'd cried myself out yesterday._ She tried to control the wobble in her voice, keeping her back turned. "I can't deal with this right now. I'll see you later."

She made a move towards the door but Sherlock's voice arrested her.

"Please, Molly, listen to me. It's not what you think." There was a pleading note in his voice that she had never heard before. Sherlock Holmes never pleaded with anyone. Sherlock Holmes was always in control of himself.

She hesitated, keeping her back to him, surreptitiously reaching fora tissue from her trouser pocket and quickly dabbing at her eyes. She really wanted to sniffle, but that would most definitely alert Sherlock to the fact she was crying. In a low tone she asked, "It's not?"

"No, it's not. Janine and I, well, we slept in the same bed a couple times but that's all. Those tabloids were a fabrication she made up to get back at me for using her. I swear to you, we never slept together, at least not in the way you are thinking. In fact," here she heard his quick inhalation of breath, "I've never been with a woman in that way. The thought of intimacy frightens the hell out of me. I don't think I'm capable of it."

Molly still stood silently, blinking in astonishment. Was he telling the truth? Sherlock had always been good at manipulating her when he needed her. But this was different. He sounded sincere, and he had also said he had been using Janine.

"Please, Molly. Come back and sit down on the bed so we can talk."

_That's twice he has said please, _she noted internally. She still couldn't look at him but she edged back towards the bed and gingerly sat on the side of it, keeping her face averted from him. Her tissue was still wadded up in her hand and she would have very much liked to wipe her face again, but Sherlock would notice for sure if she did that. She sighed and spoke again. "I'm listening."

He groaned suddenly and involuntarily her head whipped around to look at him in concern. "What is it, Sherlock?" she asked anxiously. "Do you need me to call for a doctor?"

He groaned again. "No," he uttered. "I turned off the morphine tap. Trying to wean myself off...the drugs."

Despite herself, Molly was impressed. He must be in excruciating pain. Bearing that in mind, she knew this was no time for a serious discussion. He needed his rest. "Look, Sherlock. You don't need to explain. Especially not now. You need to rest and get well. There's plenty of time for us to talk later if you want to tell me what has been going on with you."

Sherlock dropped the newspapers which he had still been holding, and he grasped her hand which was still clenched around the darn tissue, squeezing it gently. "Very well. When we do talk though, I want you to tell me why you've been crying."

She did sniffle then, there was no point in trying to hide it anymore, seeing as she had turned her head towards him. "It has just been a stressful couple of days, that's all," she hedged, pulling her hand free so she could use the tissue again. Then she stood once more. "I'll come and see you tomorrow."

With that, she bent her head and kissed his cheek. After all, wasn't that what friends did?

He seemed a little surprised but not at all uncomfortable with her affectionate gesture. "Tomorrow then," he agreed.

Unfortunately, the following day he was gone.

* * *

**Author's note:** Okay, so this story began at around the same time as the Sherlock dream I just finished publishing. I'd really be interested in seeing which one you like better. This time we get to see a Molly-centric story and a slightly different sequence of events following Sherlock's shooting. Are you intrigued so far?

I've tried to put myself in Molly's shoes, think about how devastating it must have been for her to hear about the shooting of the man she has always loved, and for her to have thought at first maybe it was a drug overdose. Can you imagine how awful it must have been for our lovely heroine?


	2. Healing More Wounds than One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a request of Molly and their relationship takes a deeper turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was contemplating just deleting this because as usual I find myself a little sad that most people in the fandom on this site are simply not interested in the stories I have to tell. I see the enthusiastic comments people make on other stories and question why I put forth so much effort when I have a much better reception to my kind of story on fanfiction.net. I’m still debating whether to finish this or not here because I did only bring it across to support the idea of Molly Hooper Appreciation Week, rather than doing it for myself. Guess I’ll see whether this chapter has a better reception than the last one and go from there.

Molly was sitting at the table, eating the lunch she had brought from home and drinking the absolutely awful hospital coffee. She was planning on going to see Sherlock as soon as she had finished eating.

To her surprise though, she was approached by, of all people, Mycroft Holmes.

She looked up at him in surprise as he cleared his throat.

Hello, Miss Hooper. I was hoping you might be able to help me. It appears my brother has gone missing."

Molly's mouth dropped open. "What do you mean, missing?"

"I mean exactly what I say. Dr. Watson and Detective Inspector Lestrade went to visit him earlier and found his room empty." There was a tense note in his voice, and Molly knew that Mycroft was concerned for his brother.

"But how can I help you?"

"We are trying to locate all of Sherlock's bolt-holes. Obviously, I am aware that Sherlock stayed with you for a few nights, during the time after he faked his death." There was something in his eyes that made her wonder if he suspected there had been anything between Sherlock and herself during that time, and she rushed to reassure him that was not the case.

"Just the spare bedroom – well, _my_ bedroom. We agreed he needs the space." _Why did I phrase it in the present tense? _That made it seem as if he still used her place as a bolt-hole. Hastily she added, "But of course he has not stayed with me since that time."

Mycroft nodded dismissively, obviously realising she had nothing further to offer. "Well thank you, anyway. Please let me know if he contacts you."

"I'll do that," she said, then watched him walk away. His shoulders were slightly hunched, as if he carried a great burden.

It wasn't until the next day that Molly discovered that Sherlock had been brought in again by ambulance from Baker Street. He'd gone home for some incomprehensible reason. Where had he been for hours, before he ended up going back to Baker Street though? Molly knew he could not have gone there directly or Mycroft most certainly would have found him immediately.

For the next few days, Molly visited Sherlock on her lunch break, or made a special trip in to see him when she was not working. She only visited for a few minutes each day, and they had not discussed again the events of the day before he had disappeared.

Molly did not want to press Sherlock for details while he was recovering, and she was also rather relieved to not have to disclose to him fully why she had been crying that day. Perhaps he had accepted her lame explanation of being stressed, anyway.

When Molly entered Sherlock's hospital room for her usual visit, almost two weeks after he had been shot, she was surprised to find him smiling.

"Well, you certainly got out on the right side of bed this morning," she quipped, smiling back at him. She went over to the bed and sat on it in what had become her customary practice.

"It's good news, Molly. I've been told I am fit enough to be released from the hospital later this afternoon."

"That's wonderful news, Sherlock. I'm sure you'll be very glad to be back at Baker Street," she said, resting her hand lightly on his. For some reason she had begun doing that, and he didn't seem to mind the physical contact.

He flipped his hand around and grabbed hers. "I have a favour to ask."

Molly looked from their hands to his face in surprise. This was the first time he had actively tried to hold her hand. "What do you need?" she asked in an unconscious imitation of those words from years before.

He seemed to remember it as well, because he responded with a slight tightening of his grasp. "You – again."

She looked at him questioningly. Suddenly her heart was beating unaccountably fast. "In what way?"

"Well, it seems my release is conditional upon having round-the-clock care for at least a month." He rolled his eyes. "You know how private I am, and how I need my space. I would hate having a nurse with me for a month. I've spoken to Mrs. Hudson, and she is willing to stay near me during the day, but I need someone at night." He was looking at her intently now, searching her face. "Do you think…would you mind staying at Baker Street for the next month?"

Molly swallowed hard. This was the last thing she had expected. It was hard enough being in close proximity to Sherlock during the day and not confessing how she felt about him, but if she were there at night with him…

"I…I don't know, Sherlock," she said, biting her lip.

"Please, Molly," he pleaded. "I need you. There is no one else I would want to take care of me while I recuperate."

How ironic that he was asking her to take care of him, when only a couple weeks earlier she had been wishing she could do just that.

He squeezed her hand again and gave her a mournful, puppy-dog look. _Oh, what the heck. I might as well get whatever time I can with him while I have the chance, _she thought.

She sighed. "Alright, Sherlock. I'll have to pack a few things to bring with me to Baker Street. How Will you get home from the hospital?"

Sherlock beamed at her in undisguised relief. "Thank you, Molly. I've spoken with John, and he will drive me back to Baker Street. You'll come tonight then, right?"

"Well apparently, if I am to be your night nurse, I will need to be there at night," she told him with a quirk to her lips.

"Excellent. I'll see you then." He released her hand and she knew she was being dismissed. She leaned over to kiss his cheek as had also become her custom, and this time, for the first time, he shifted his face slightly and she accidentally brushed the side of his mouth. She pulled away and blushed. Why had he done that?

He just smirked at her and she made a quick exit.

That evening, after packing a suitcase with clothes, nightwear and toiletries, Molly took a taxi to Baker Street. She knocked on the outer door which was opened almost immediately by Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, there you are, dear. I'm so glad you are taking over for me. Sherlock can be a little hard to handle at times. He is so easily bored, but you knew that already. He's already complaining about the fact that he can't get out to work on any cases. I hope you'll have a better time of it, seeing as most of your shift will be while he is asleep."

"I certainly hope so," said Molly as she closed the door behind her.

Mrs. Hudson pressed two keys into her hand. "Here you go. If you will be staying with Sherlock, you need to be able to get into the building and his flat."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." Molly smiled gratefully at the elderly woman who then returned to her flat. She ascended the stairs and was not particularly surprised when the door opened to admit her before she could even knock. She was not going to use the key until Sherlock knew she had one.

"You can leave your suitcase on the floor over there," Sherlock said, nodding in the direction of the sofa.

Molly put her suitcase down where he had indicated, not sure of what to do next. "Mrs. Hudson gave me a key for the outer door and this flat," she informed him, so that he would know for future reference.

Sherlock nodded. "Good. I asked her to furnish you with those. Why don't you sit down?" he invited, and she sat on the sofa, expecting him to settle into his chair as usual. To her surprise he sat next to her instead.

"Molly, I'm aware that we never got to finish our conversation from that first day, and I feel it is time to explain to you about Janine and myself."

It was funny, she had almost forgotten about the other woman. Now, at the mention of the name, she felt jealousy flood through her once again. She folded her hands in her lap primly. "What about her?"

"You need to know that I only went out with her for a case," he told her, shifting his position so he could look at her more fully. "She is Charles Magnussen's personal assistant, and I felt the best way to get to him would be through her. He is the reason I took those drugs, to get his attention and make him think I had a drug habit. He's an evil man, Molly, and he must be stopped. There are people who are in danger from him." He spoke earnestly, and Molly could see this was important to him.

"Well, I hope you are putting your plans on hold while you recuperate. You're in no condition to go after anyone right now," she told him, rather forcefully.

"I'm not a fool, Molly. I know I need to heal first. Anyway, I already have plans for him and they are a couple months away yet, so you need not worry." His voice was a little petulant.

Rather abruptly he changed the subject. "It was you, wasn't it – that first day in the hospital?"

Molly looked at him in confusion. "What was me? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The first day, when I was unconscious, someone kissed me. I felt it. I thought it had to be Janine, but it wasn't, was it? It was you." He was staring at her now, as if willing her to confess.

Molly could feel her cheeks reddening as she looked down. "Why would you think that?" she hedged.

"You don't smell like Janine. She wears Chanel perfume. You always smell of the strawberry shampoo from your hair, and a rather intoxicating scent on your skin that seems to have hints of jasmine and vanilla. I remember now smelling that, although I was not conscious enough to recognise it."

He recognised the scents she used. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. What could she say? It was true.

Sensing her mute acceptance of his assertion, Sherlock pressed on. "Why did you kiss me, Molly?"

Molly drew in her breath. _Because I love you. Because I've always loved you._

"I…I don't know," she managed. Was he angry at her?

Then Sherlock's hand came up and he lifted her chin to meet his aquamarine gaze. "When you kissed me, out of it though I was, I felt something. It's something I'd like to discover more about, whether it can be repeated. Would you…would you let me kiss you now that I'm fully conscious?"

Molly's heart felt as if it were about to explode in her chest as she nodded mutely. He actually wanted to kiss her?

He bent his head towards her and she leaned towards him. She closed her eyes and then felt his lips settle on hers properly for the first time, warm and incredibly soft, and just the way she had always imagined they would be. That same warmth spread through her, but now it was turning into something more, into tiny little tongues of flame, dancing throughout her senses.

His lips were gentle until, with an inarticulate murmur she opened her mouth, now seeking his advancement. His hands moved to clasp her face in the way she had dreamed of for so long, and they were just as strong and firm against her head as she had thought they would be, engulfing her even as he deepened the kiss and she finally allowed herself to put her arms around him.

He seemed to know instinctively how to coax a response from her, perhaps it was due to the time he had spent with Janine, but at that moment she really didn't care. All she cared about was that Sherlock Holmes was finally kissing her in the way she had imagined and fantasised about for so long.

Her fingertips trailed upwards to feel those dark curls that had tempted her for as long as she had known him.

She had no idea how long they kissed, all she knew was that she luxuriated in it, even while she drowned in the sensation of it.

When their lips parted at last, Molly noticed that Sherlock's chest was heaving as much as hers was. He rested his forehead against hers while keeping his hands on either side of her face. "Molly," he breathed. "I've been wanting to do that since I realised you kissed me, but I knew it would have to wait until I was out of the hospital."

Was he really saying these words to her? "You really wanted to kiss me?" She whispered the words, hardly daring to believe it.

He pulled back then slightly and looked into her eyes. "There's a reason I have always tried to not touch you physically. It's because you make me feel something that frightens me. On those two occasions where I kissed your cheek, it was even worse for me. Physical contact for me is always difficult, but particularly when it comes to you."

"What about when you were with Janine?" she enquired hesitantly.

"I'm not going to lie and say I didn't kiss her, because I did. But it certainly wasn't the way I kissed you just now, and when I kissed her I didn't feel anything." He finally dropped his hands from her face as she too released her hold. "What are you doing to me, Molly Hooper?"

She reached her hand out to clasp his, where it had settled on his lap. "I'm not doing anything to you, Sherlock. Maybe it's time to allow yourself to feel what you have feared in the past. I've had feelings for you for a long time, but I didn't say anything because I never dreamed that you would feel anything for me." Her voice was soft and wondering.

"Will you teach me to feel, Molly? Will you be with me as I navigate this uncharted territory?"

She stroked her fingers along the back of his hand keeping her eyes focussed on it, knowing she was about to make a big admission. "Of course I will. But I have to tell you, there are uncharted territories for me as well, ones that I have promised myself not to enter until my wedding night, if that were ever to happen."

"Wait a minute," said Sherlock, and she looked up at him again, hearing the tone of confusion in his voice. "Are you saying that when you were telling me that you and Tom were 'having quite a lot of sex', you were telling me a falsehood?"

Molly blushed and gave a tiny, self-conscious laugh. "That's a rather antiquated term to use but uh, I may have...exaggerated a bit."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "A _bit_? You lied to me, Molly." Then his features relaxed into a smile. "So I'm not the only sexually repressed virgin in London?"

Molly pulled her hand back from his. "I am _not _sexually repressed. I simply try to uphold Biblical standards of sexual purity."

"I always miss something," he murmured. "You're religious."

Molly huffed in annoyance. "I am _not_ religious. That word has become so identified with fanatic Bible-bashers and I hate the term. I'm a Christian. That means I believe what the Bible says and try to live my life by it."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "But when you lied about you and Tom - wouldn't that be considered a sin?"

She flushed guiltily. "You're right, and I'm not perfect. You just...provoked me into it with your indifference. I was, foolishly as it turns out, trying to pretend things were wonderful between me and Tom. I didn't want you to know that every time I was around him I was wishing I was with you." She plucked at an invisible thread on the sofa nervously.

"Well, I suppose then we both have a lot more learning to do about each other," he remarked.

She looked up and met his eyes. "Does that mean you'll come to church with me on Sunday?" she asked hesitantly. This was something that was important to her.

He looked uncertain. "Molly, you know I don't go in for all that stuff."

"You just survived a gunshot to the chest. Oh, and I might add, you survived a fall that could so easily have led to your death. Don't you think that should give you pause for thought? Isn't it possible some Supreme Being orchestrated your survival for a reason? Because I believe it to be true."

She could see Sherlock processing her words. "Very well. Perhaps there is something to what you say. I will attend church this Sunday with you on one condition."

Molly chewed on her lower lip nervously. "What condition?"

His voice was serious as he answered. "You share my bed while you are staying here."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's that for a little cliffhanger?
> 
> I hope you liked their first kiss - I LOVE writing first kisses! So, do you think Molly will agree with Sherlock's request in order to get him to church? If you have read my initial story, you will recall a similar bargain made by Sherlock in that one, so this story kind of mimics that idea.
> 
> Please support my writing efforts with a comment if you would like to see what happens next.


	3. Continuing the Healing Process

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly grow closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been awhile. I don’t think to check on this site often and the usual disinterest for my work from readers here means my focus is usually elsewhere. Anyway, here’s the next chapter.

Molly's mouth dropped open and she looked at Sherlock in astonishment. _What on earth is he asking me?_

Sensing her distress, Sherlock immediately took both of her hands in his. "Molly. I only just kissed you for the first time, and you told me there are certain things you want to wait for, for your wedding night. Why on earth would you think I'm propositioning you? I said to share my bed, and that's exactly what I meant."

Molly let out a breath of relief. She looked at him searchingly. "Why do you want me to share your bed?" she ventured at last.

His thumbs rubbed over her hands absently as he responded. "I, well, I just want you close by. What if I need you in the middle of the night and you're upstairs in John's room where you can't hear me?" He flashed her a small grin. "I'm still recovering, after all."

Molly was suddenly finding it very difficult to breathe. The way his thumbs were touching her hands was almost mesmerising, and she found herself saying, "Alright, I'll do it." She reasoned to herself, at the very least, it would get him to church.

"And now, would you mind terribly if I kissed you again?" Sherlock asked, looking intently into her eyes in a way that made her want to immediately melt against him.

Her voice didn't quite sound normal when she responded, "I wouldn't mind."

He released her hands and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Then his lips were on hers again. That same wonderful feeling came over her. Nobody had evoked this kind of response, not even Tom in the early days before Sherlock returned to London. With Sherlock her senses were heightened, every feeling more intense.

Her arms came around him once again as his kiss became more forceful and passionate, demanding a response from her that she willingly gave.

When their lips finally parted, she couldn't help murmuring, "I love you, Sherlock, so much."

He stroked her face gently. "I hope you understand that I can't say those words to you just yet. These feelings are too new and I need time to process them. I want to explore them with you, to see where they lead; but I also know that if the time comes when I say them to you, it will mean I'm ready to make things permanent. Do you understand?"

She offered him a tentative smile. "Of course I understand. I don't want you to ever feel pressured into saying or doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. I'm just happy you care enough about me to want to take a chance at seeing where this leads."

"Thank you for understanding," he said softly. In a different tone he said, "Well, I suppose you should unpack your suitcase now."

He stood, helping Molly to her feet, and Sherlock reorganised his drawers so she could put her things away in one of them temporarily.

That night, Molly climbed into Sherlock's bed shyly. She had never shared a bed with a man before and it was a little intimidating. Sherlock was already in bed on his side and he smiled at her, but kept his distance, and she relaxed, knowing he would not try to make any advances.

The next couple of weeks passed in a blur as Molly went to work, then came back to Baker Street. Sometimes she would cook, although this was a bit of a challenge, due to the deplorable state of Sherlock's kitchen table in particular with all its scientific implements cluttered on it; sometime she would bring takeaway. Sherlock had managed to do some work, little cases where he didn't need to leave the flat. Molly did her part to keep him occupied by talking about various post-mortems she had done and funny stories about things she had found inside the bodies of some of the corpses.

They spent a lot of time just cuddled together on the sofa, watching crap telly or kissing. John and Mary came regularly to visit, and Sherlock had informed them that he and Molly were seeing each other.

Mary had merely commented, "About bloody time you pulled your head out of your arse, Sherlock."

John's reaction had been a little more circumspect, as he expressed concern about Sherlock playing fast and loose with Molly's emotions, to which Molly responded that Sherlock was definitely not doing that. They were simply seeing where things would lead between them.

The more time Molly spent with Sherlock, the more deeply she fell in love with him. They had even begun talking about things that were said in church on the two occasions in which he had attended with her, those being the only times he left the flat. He had developed a curiosity about God and was no longer dismissive of the notion that there was a Creator. Molly insisted that science supported the idea of Intelligent Design, rather than disproved it.

Each night, they were creeping a little closer towards each other in bed, almost as if they were slowly being drawn by a magnet.

When Molly woke one morning to find Sherlock behind her, with his arm over her, having unconsciously moved into that position overnight, she found she liked the feeling of his arm encircling her. When Sherlock woke and tried to apologise, she had snuggled into his warmth, letting him know without words that she was okay with it, and from that point on they slept that way.

The end of their month together approached, and Molly realised she was dreading going back to her flat. There had been a major victory with Sherlock though which made her very happy - after much research, he had finally agreed with her position on God.

"Do you want to know what really convinced me?" he asked her after he had made the announcement. He was sitting with her as usual on the sofa, in a relaxed position, with his legs on the coffee table and his arm around her shoulders.

"Of course I do," she answered, smiling at him.

"When we were coming home today from your church, I saw a sign outside another church, and it said, 'Faith is believing in what you can't see because of what you _can_ see.' I thought about that for awhile. That's why I was so quiet on the way home. I was looking around me at nature, at people, and it hit me. How arrogant and self-important I've been, thinking that mere chance could have created something so wondrous, so complex as this world. I blindly followed the teachings of evolutionists and atheists, without even bothering to research it for myself to draw my own conclusions. I've been a fool, Molly."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm so proud of you, Sherlock. I understand that this was something you never looked into for yourself, because it wasn't something that pertains to your work. I know you have a tendency to delete that which is irrelevant, but the subject of God is something you didn't delete - you simply didn't think about it."

Sherlock nodded solemnly. "I'm grateful to you for encouraging me to look into it for myself." He leaned in to give her a tender kiss.

Sherlock's recovery had been going remarkably well. His doctors were very happy with the way his wound had healed, finally saying he could return to normal activities. Molly had attended his appointment, having received permission from Mike to take the time off needed for it.

While Molly was pleased to hear the news, she felt a knot form in her stomach, and she knew her time with Sherlock was coming to an end. He had still not declared his love for her and she wasn't sure he would ever be ready to do so.

On the last day, Molly packed her things together to leave. She looked around the flat that seemed more like home to her now than her own. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, observing her movements, not saying anything.

Putting the last of her toiletries into her suitcase, she zipped it closed and turned to Sherlock. There was a slight wobble in her voice as she said, "Well, that's it then. I guess…I guess I'll see you soon. Let me know if there's anything you need."

He stood and came to her, wrapping his arms around her. "Thank you for being here for me. I'll miss you."

_Then ask me to stay, _she pleaded silently, but he didn't do so. Instead, he lowered his lips to hers for a farewell kiss. "Goodbye, Molly. I'll be in touch."

She nodded and picked up a suitcase. Sherlock opened the door for her and she left the flat to return to her own, without looking back. "_I'll be in touch."_ It sounded clinical, like the words of someone who felt nothing more than friendship for her, and she began to wonder whether their time together had just been part of an elaborate experiment for him. _Well,_ she thought silently, _at least one good thing came of it. He is no longer an atheist. S_he knew that at least was something he was being completely truthful about. She had seen the sincerity in his eyes as he spoke to her about it.

Ironically, Molly had plenty of time to contemplate her future with Sherlock over the next two days, because it was the weekend and she was not scheduled to work. Several times she picked up her phone to text him, to see if he wanted to do something with her, but she put her phone back down in defeat. He had said he would be in touch, and she had to let him make the first move. The events of the previous month began to feel like a dream, as if they had never happened. She spent the weekend cleaning her flat, trying to distract herself from thoughts of the man she loved, straining her ears despite herself for any sound from her phone to indicate Sherlock was contacting her. There was nothing. Her bed felt cold and lonely. It was funny how quickly someone could become accustomed to the warmth of another person's body beside them. She wondered if Sherlock missed that as well.

By the time Molly dragged herself to work on Monday, she had come to the conclusion that everything between Sherlock and herself had been nothing more than a distraction for him, something for him to do while he had been more or less housebound for a month. Those kisses meant so much to her, but undoubtedly meant no more than light flirtation to him. Perhaps her defence of Sherlock to John had been misplaced after all. She hated to think that might be the case, but she just didn't know anymore.

She was surprised then to hear her text alert go off at around two in the afternoon. She knew it was Sherlock, because she had specifically given his phone number a unique alert to indicate it was from him. She was impatient to read the text, but was in the middle of a post-mortem. She forced herself to complete her task without rushing through it. She heard his text alert once more just as she was washing her hands following the autopsy.

She finally picked up her phone and looked at the texts. It had already been an hour since she had heard the first text come in. She read the message.

_Come to Baker Street at six o'clock tonight. Don't eat beforehand._

Apparently, Sherlock had become anxious when she had not responded, because the next text read,

_Please._

Molly smiled to herself. That was unusual. Sherlock rarely used that word.

She sent a text back.

_I'll be there._

Apparently, he must have had his phone close by, because he responded almost immediately with a thumbs up emoji.

After work, Molly returned home to her flat, feeling nervous. What was he going to say to her? Apparently it involved food, but she wasn't sure whether he was planning to let her down gently, and feed her to pacify her. She could definitely see him doing something like that.

She changed out of her work clothes, buttoning up her nicest blouse with trembling fingers, hoping her attire would give her confidence. If he was going to break up with her, she was going to make sure she looked her best when he did so, so he would know what he was missing. She pulled her hair out of the braid she had put it in that day, and brushed it out. Thanks to the weave of the braid, her hair fell in soft waves around her face. She applied a little more make up than she usually wore, then gazed at her reflection in her bathroom mirror with satisfaction before making her way to Baker Street. She was ready to faced the music.

* * *

!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, things seemed to have been going well for Molly and Sherlock but she is doubting herself.
> 
> So, what do you think Sherlock wants to say to Molly? Was she an experiment to him, after all? Venture a guess and have your name added to my author’s note in the next chapter.
> 
> I really would be interested to hear what people think about my more innocent version of Molly and Sherlock and whether you feel it is believable in the way I write them using the premise of Molly being a Christian.


	4. Healed and Whole at Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly feels apprehensive as she answers Sherlock’s summons to his flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the conclusion. Please do read the end Author's note to understand the context of this story. 
> 
> If you don’t care to read stories that have a strong spiritual aspect to them, you might want to just leave this alone. I am not ashamed of my beliefs, nor will I write as though they do not mean anything to me. It is an important part of my life and that often dictates the way I write for Sherlock and Molly.
> 
> If you do find my stories believable and want to read further, or even know more about what Christianity is about, then I invite you once again to look me up on fanfiction.net. I would love to share with more people. I’ll listen to your story without prejudice and share my own views in the same way.

Molly inserted the key in the lock of the outer door of 221B Baker Street. She looked at the numbers, thinking, not for the first time, how odd it was that the B was on the outer door, when there were three flats leading from that entrance. Perhaps it was to alert Sherlock's clients that they had the right place.

It was a few minutes before six, but she was not surprised that Sherlock opened the door for her, as he always did.

He seemed a little surprised that she was more dressed up than usual. She saw him swallow before he spoke. "You look…very nice this evening," he managed, and she flashed him a smile.

She looked around as he stood aside for her to enter the flat into the flat. One thing immediately caught her attention. The doors to the kitchen were closed. That was rather odd.

Sherlock closed the door behind her and motioned for her to sit on the sofa, almost in the exact way he had done a month earlier when she had arrived with her suitcase to take care of him. She perched nervously on the edge of the sofa. The fact that he had not greeted her with a kiss as he had done on every other occasion since they had entered this rather odd relationship, was not a good sign.

Sherlock too, seemed rather nervous. He didn't take the seat beside her, instead choosing to pace in front of her.

She waited patiently for him, unwilling to start the conversation.

Finally he stopped pacing and stood in front of her, looking down at her. She felt at a complete disadvantage. "Molly, I asked you here tonight to discuss our future." He had shifted his posture to clasp his hands behind his back, as he always did when he needed fortitude.

Her heart sank. He was going to tell her that while he had enjoyed this attempt at a relationship, it was not working for him. She was certain of it. She swallowed and felt traitorous tears coming to her eyes. _Be strong, Molly,_ she told herself silently. _At least you'll have some memories now._ Her heart ached for him, yet she did not want him to feel bad about breaking things off with her. She had been the one who had kissed him first in the hospital, after all.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "It's okay, Sherlock. You don't need to tell me. I understand that this was something new for you, something unfamiliar and that it was a risk. We can just go back to being friends."

He furrowed his brow in confusion. "What the hell are you saying, Molly? Are you telling me that you want to end this?"

"No," she said, looking down into her lap, unable to keep the misery out of her voice. "I'm saving you the trouble of doing it."

He dropped to his knees in front of her and took her hands. "I don't know what has got into your head, Molly Hooper, and why you would think I want to end things with you, but that is not why I wanted to talk to you." He spoke forcefully, as if willing her to understand.

She looked from where his hands were holding hers and up to his face, searchingly, feeling a sudden surge of hope within her. "It's not?"

"Of course it's not," he told her, looking into her eyes. "I wanted to tell you that I've been thinking about this; trying to process these emotions over the past month, what I am feeling for you. I kept thinking at some point these feelings would become easier to understand. All these complicated little emotions - for years I've pushed them aside, denied their existence, especially in regard to you. I need you to know, Molly, that I understand now at last. I understand it and can face the truth." He stopped then and she gazed at him, seeing a sparkle of tears in his eyes that matched those in her own.

"And what is the truth?" she ventured, hardly daring to hope that he might feel the same way for her as she felt for him.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, before breathing in again. "The truth is, I love you. I'm _in _love with you. I have been for a long time. Every day I spend with you, these emotions get stronger, deeper. It terrifies me that there seems to be no end to this, no bottom, as it were."

Molly drew in her breath, as tears of relief trickled down her face. Then she listened in astonishment as he continued.

"You left your Bible here, did you know that?"

She shook her head numbly. She hadn't even thought about it. It had been sitting on the nightstand on the side of the bed where she had been sleeping. She had been too miserable over the past two days to even think about it, more shame to her.

He continued. "Seeing as this seems to be something that is important to you, I thought I'd look at it a little. I found it very interesting that there are a lot of words at the back of your Bible, references to where you can find them within it. I was flipping through that, and came upon the word _love_. So I looked at the references and I found something that convicted me of my feelings for you, once and for all."

And then he recited some of the words from **1 Corinthians 13**.

"'_Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.'"_

He paused, and took a deep breath. "It was then that I truly realised what love really is, because that is how you have shown your love for me and it is how I feel about you. I love you, Molly. I always will."

Tears spilled from his own lashes, as he pulled her to her feet.

Then he was kissing her, with long, lingering kisses of devotion and sweetness. Kisses of promise that he truly loved her as much as she loved him. Molly flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back with all the longing in her heart, allowing herself to finally release the depth of emotion she felt for him, that she had been holding in check for so long. His lips moved along her face, kissing her tear-stained cheeks, blazing a trail downwards, for the first time tracing a path that led below her face to her throat, placing a kiss onto the pulse that beat frantically there. Between each kiss he murmured the words he had denied her for so long., "I love you, I love you."

When their lips parted finally, and their chests were heaving with their emotions, Sherlock took her hand. "I have something to show you."

"Wait." Molly lifted her free hand to wipe away the tears that still glistened on his own cheeks and lashes. Then she allowed him to lead her towards the closed door of the kitchen.

She opened her mouth with astonishment when he slid open the doors and she saw what lay within. The kitchen table was completely devoid of scientific instruments. Instead, there were two place settings with two foil-covered cardboard containers beside them and a third towards the middle of the table for some odd reason. There were two long white candles in holders and a vase with a rosebud inside it. "It's only chips, I'm afraid," he told her with a lopsided grin. "Give me a minute, I need to do something."

She smiled, as he went to his miscellaneous drawer and pulled out a lighter, which he used to light the candles.

"Please sit," he invited, and she did so. "You can eat now," he said with a smile, watching as she removed the foil from the cardboard container. Then she gasped in astonishment. Inside the container was a black velvet box.

She turned to look at Sherlock and found that he had dropped to his knees beside her chair. "Don't bother looking inside the box, because its contents are in my hand," he told her. He sounded a little nervous and she felt her heart pounding with anticipation.

Then he produced a ring that sparkled in the candlelight, a heart-shaped solitaire, extending it towards her.

"Molly, my heart, I'm sorry it took me three days before I contacted you. I was kind of under a bit of a time constraint to get this done. After you left on Friday night and I read those words in your Bible, I knew this was what I wanted. I want to marry you, to spend my life with you. These past two nights without you I've been lonely. It seems I've become accustomed to your presence at night." His lips tilted upwards. "Would you come back here and move in with me properly? Will you marry me?" He looked at her hopefully and Molly found herself blinking back tears again.

"Of course I'll marry you," she answered, watching in some bemusement as Sherlock placed the ring on the third finger of her left hand. Of course, she wasn't surprised that it fit perfectly.

Then she threw her arms around him and kissed him passionately, until he let out a little sound of discomfort and pulled away.

"Much as I enjoy these wonderful kisses, my knees aren't quite as willing to remain on the floor for an extended period of time. Why don't we eat now? Your real chips are in the other cardboard container."

Molly giggled, and he stood, dusted off the dirt from his knees and sat at his place at the table. _Well, at least the table is clean_, she thought in some amusement.

As they ate, she asked curiously, "Where is your microscope and your other scientific instruments?"

He looked at her, a chip halfway to his mouth. "I asked Mrs. Hudson if I could use 221C as my lab. I decided that if I am going to do what normal people do, like get married and have a family, it might be prudent to keep my experiments elsewhere." He popped the chip into his mouth and chewed, oblivious to the fact that Molly was looking over at him in astonishment.

Molly's breath had caught at the casual mention of the word _family_. She herself desperately wanted children of her own, although she hadn't been sure if Sherlock would feel the same way.

"You...you do want children then?"

He gave her an uncertain look. "I'm sorry. Was that presumptuous of me? I had thought to follow the natural order of things, but if that's something you don't want..."

"No, no," she assured him hastily. "I've always wanted children, but I wasn't sure that _you_ would want them, and I wouldn't want you to feel pressured into having a family of your own."

He smiled with relief. "Well, that's settled then. I suppose we should discuss how many children we would like?"

"I think two."

He looked disappointed. "I was thinking more along the lines of seven, you know, like the von Trapp children in _The Sound of Music._"

Molly snorted then, spitting out the chip she had been chewing. "You had better get that thought of yours out of your head immediately, Sherlock Holmes. My body is not equipped to carry seven children."

He pouted. "Make me a counter-offer then."

Molly laughed. "Three."

"Five."

She rolled her eyes. "No more than four."

"It's a deal." He stood up and threw his empty cardboard container into the rubbish bin, returning for hers, which was also finished, tossing it also into the bin. Then he took Molly's hand and led her back into the sitting room.

For the first time he settled himself on his chair and pulled her onto his lap. "I feel the need to kiss you some more. And then I think we need to discuss the wedding."

Molly enjoyed the sensation of being on his lap, being closer to him. They kissed for several minutes, Sherlock's one hand rubbing circles on her back as they continued their embrace.

This time when they ended their embrace, there was a definite note of passion and desire in Sherlock's voice as he said, "I think we should look at getting married sooner rather than later. I am having certain…urges to move things further along with you."

Molly blushed. "I feel that too. I long to be closer with you as well. So, when did you have in mind?"

"How about Christmas?"

"But…but didn't you want to finish that case with Magnussen first? Christmas is less than two months away," she expostulated.

Sherlock shrugged. "Change of plans. I had an idea to confront him on Christmas Day, but I've decided it is too risky and it might be better to employ different methods with which to bring him to justice. My thought for Christmas was instead of going down to Sussex to be with my parents, I would simply tell them to come here."

"Is this really what you want? To be married so soon, I mean."

He sighed. "If you want me to wait till the wedding night to be intimate with you, yes."

"Then my answer is yes." She smiled at him and they sealed it with another sweet kiss.

* * *

In the end it was decided that it would be easier to marry ten days before Christmas so they would have time for a honeymoon, rather than on the day itself. Some discussion was made about waiting until after Christmas, but Sherlock and Molly mutually decided that sooner was better than later. It had been getting progressively more difficult for them to wait for their wedding night, but they stuck to it.

It had been quite funny too, because Mrs. Hudson had been quite convinced that they were being rather old-fashioned. Molly had to laugh at this, because she would have expected someone from the older generation to understand those values a little better.

Nevertheless, as they basked in the afterglow of exploring each other's bodies intimately for the first time, the newlyweds were content with their decision.

Molly giggled as Sherlock reverently traced the curve of her breast. "What wondrous things these are," he murmured.

"I remember you saying at the Christmas party a few years ago that they were too small."

"I didn't use those words exactly," he protested, kissing her hair. "Besides, I know now that I was feeling jealousy and wished to lash out at you for being dressed up for another man. You know how embarrassed I was when I realised that man was me."

She traced her own line across his well-defined chest, then down around the indented scar of the bullet wound. "It's all water under the bridge now. I'm so thankful that you survived, and that you have healed."

"Yes, my body has healed, but so also has my soul been made whole as well, thanks to you."

"I didn't make the decision to become a Christian, that was all your own doing," she told him, placing a kiss on his chest.

"But your assistance was invaluable in that regard. You planted the seeds, with your selflessness and your love. I am so blessed, and I am looking forward to a wonderful future with you, my love, my wife." He reached his hand up to turn her face into his, pressing his lips against hers sweetly.

It was going to be a wonderful Christmas, now that Sherlock understood the true meaning of it, mused Molly happily as she lay contentedly in her husband's arms. Of course, they had a wonderful honeymoon to experience first!

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. This story contains hints of my "real" Sherlock and Molly's story - the use of 221C as Sherlock's new lab, the seven children reference. I also wanted to make sure the Magnussen issue was addressed as well. I think Molly would be able to help Sherlock come up with a better way to deal with him!
> 
> Of course, this was just a dream, but I want to put forth this little Bible verse that gives credibility to Sherlock and Molly's decision to marry sooner rather than later 1
> 
> **1 Corinthians 7:9** _"But if they cannot control themselves, they should marry, for it is better to marry than to burn with passion."_
> 
> In response to a reader who mentioned the whole Christian aspect seemed a little out-of-place, I will share this here so everyone is aware of it.
> 
> If you are not familiar with my writing, this will hopefully help you to understand. This story is a dream that the “real” Molly, from my Journey series has, some time after she and Sherlock have returned from their honeymoon. The exact date/circumstances of the dream are not shown on this site, you would have to read my story “A Journey through Molly’s Diary” on fanfiction.net to understand the context. However, in light of the fact that it is a dream, the slightly rushed aspect of Sherlock becoming a Christian can, I hope, be explained by virtue of the fact that he is already one in “real life”.. His conversion to Christianity is told in a much deeper, more meaningful way in “A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage.” So if it all seems a little far-fetched, I ask you to please keep that in mind
> 
> Your kudos and feedback on the conclusion of this story would be much appreciated! I am quite open to constructive criticism of my work, but not needless criticism.

**Author's Note:**

> In this story I've tried to put myself in Molly's shoes, think about how devastating it must have been for her to hear about the shooting of the man she has always loved, and for her to have thought at first maybe it was a drug overdose. Can you imagine how awful it must have been for our lovely heroine?
> 
> If you are interested in seeing how this story progresses, don’t forget to hit that kudos button and leave a comment. Share your thoughts on the events surrounding this time - what is your head canon?


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